Twinning the Hatchet, redux
by ryagelle
Summary: This is a rewrite of the original Ratchet/Twins fic, hopefully something more in line with the overall storyline as it has developed and with my current writing style. Warnings for stickyfic and Sideswipe being a jerkface.
1. Chapter 1

Okay, a little bit of explanation: the original Twinning the Hatchet was my very first published fic. It was written hurriedly, in scrabbled-together spare moments, during a very stressful time in my life. I was mostly concerned with just _getting the damn thing down_ and maybe working off some of the issues I had with the very unhealthy relationship I was in at the time. It was not intended to be quite as fluffy as a lot of folks took it to be, and there's a great deal of characterization that happened in my mind but never made its way into the story.

So. Several years pass, and the whole thing has evolved, as things like this do, and inconsistencies have been cropping up-not to mention my plainly terrible writing and tendency to over-fanonize the characters at the time. In an effort to get myself back into the swing of writing LM and also to clear up these issues, I am putting out this rewrite. You can feel free to ignore it if you want; I'm mostly writing it for myself. I do, however, want folks to have the option of reading a version of this story and these characters that is closer to what I have in my head, so here you go. I hope someone enjoys it as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

Epic thanks go to rageai, my tireless companion/muse/coauthor/betareader/all-around-awesome-person.

**Folks, please read the summary. This fic contains sticky. If that's a squick line for you, or if you're underage, please don't read it.**

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Ratchet was pretty sure he was losing his mind.

The thought came to him sometime after midnight as he lay on his berth, a sudden epiphany that caused him to frown. He _thought_ that he hadn't been drinking…though that didn't really mean he could rule it out. He would admit that he was tired—so maybe that was the problem?

He didn't really think so. No, being off his nut was a more likely explanation.

And really, he mused, the situation wouldn't have been all that out of place in his rough-and-tumble youth, except, instead of a stranger in his berth, there was—

His internal rambling was interrupted by a clever-fingered hand, sliding up along his front to caress the seams of his windshield, making him gasp softly. A warm, hard body pressed up against him; it would have been unnerving if it hadn't felt so good. He started to relax into the other beside him, but then the haze in his processors finally decided to clear and he stiffened in alarm. "The frag are you doing?" he yelped, squirming a bit in a token effort to escape. The hand continued to wander his frame, evoking the sense-memory of recent events, which only panicked him further.

"What d'you think I'm doing?" a sultry voice murmured in response, full of a knowledge its owner should never have had, and to all appearances unaware of his discomfiture. The hand slid a little lower, revisiting the sensitive areas it had mapped earlier, nearly wringing a moan from his vocalizer before he could stifle it.

"We shouldn't be doing this," Ratchet panted, torn between leaning into the touch and shrinking away from it.

"Why not?" the voice breathed into his audio, nuzzling at him tenderly—then made a soft, surprised sound when he pulled away. Seeming to finally sense that something was amiss, the other mech asked, "Ratchet? What's wrong?" Arms came up to pull the medic closer, perhaps to comfort him, but the full weight of panic settled down and he scrambled away.

"Don't touch me!" he cried, tripping over a second mech in his berth in his haste to escape. He stopped for a moment, facing them and trembling while two pairs of optics, one wide with alarm and worry, the other groggy and muddled, stared at him.

It was the second who spoke into that silence, voice thick with recharge and confusion. "Ratchet—what—?"

"I have to go," Ratchet blurted, before the other could finish his question, and bolted out of his quarters.

For a long moment, the pair of mechs in the medic's quarters just stared at the door in silence.

"Well, that went well," Sunstreaker said finally, his tone sarcastic as he flopped back down to lie on the berth.

"That was…not really the reaction I had in mind when I started this," Sideswipe muttered, subsiding as well, scooting back to sit against the wall and staring off into space, trying to think of how that might have been handled better.

"Obviously," Sunstreaker snorted dryly.

"I mean, he seemed to be enjoying himself up until he freaked out on me…" Sideswipe continued absently, paying no mind to his brother.

"Sure," Sunstreaker muttered, rolling over onto his side facing away from his twin.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," the yellow mech said flatly. Sideswipe scowled but didn't press, knowing he was unlikely to get any explanations out of the other mech.

Neither spoke for several minutes, and then, finally, Sunstreaker asked, "Was it worth it?"

His brother hesitated. "If you're asking 'was it good', then…_Pit_, yes," he said softly. In a wry tone, he added, "But you already know that. Whether it was worth it…" He sighed softly, shaking his head. "I don't know, yet. I guess we'll see in the morning."

"Told you this was a bad idea."

o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o

When Ratchet came to himself, he was standing in the darkened medbay, staring unseeing at racks of meticulously organized tools and a row of gleaming tables. He blinked, bringing everything back into focus as best he could, before drifting toward his office in the rear of the small 'bay. Once inside it, he shut and locked the door, sank down into his office chair, propped his elbows on his desk, and buried his face in his hands.

He'd just interfaced with a _patient._ Sweet _Primus_—what the slag had happened to his professionalism?

"Frag," he whispered brokenly. "Now what, Ratchet?"


	2. Chapter 2

It started as a bet. Both twins regretted that detail in the end.

The _Ark_'s crew never needed much of an excuse to throw a party, not since they landed on Earth and found themselves with a relative abundance of resources and free time. And, as was customary at such parties, most everyone got wasted on one of Sideswipe's singular blends of high grade, which was guaranteed to knock any mech flat on his aft after a cube or two.

Sideswipe's memory of that night was fuzzy, at best. He didn't remember how the subject came up, but he could recall boasting outrageously about his ability to seduce any mech he chose. Then someone demanded that he _prove_ it, and someone else suggested _Ratchet_, of all mechs, and suddenly there were wagers being shouted all around. Sideswipe wasn't about to back down from a challenge, so he convinced Bluestreak to take them all down and make sure Sides got them in the morning, despite the gunner's protests.

Sunstreaker had also been less than pleased with the entire idea, once he recovered from his hangover enough to understand just what was going on. "You're insane," he said flatly, but he went along with it, mostly because he couldn't talk Sideswipe into giving it up.

So, despite Sunstreaker's grumbling, they schemed. It was sparkling's play to get a copy of the roster and memorize Ratchet's duty schedule, and after that it was easy enough to simply be present whenever and wherever Ratchet was, as often as their own schedule allowed. At first, Ratchet seemed to take the suddenly ubiquitous presence of one or both of the brothers in stride, but it very quickly became apparent that all they were managing to do was wear on his patience.

"Out! _Out!_ Get _out_ of my fragging medbay!" Ratchet snapped finally, after they'd been underfoot for most of a day.

"But Ratchet…" Sideswipe pleaded, not in the least above groveling, but Ratchet shook his head.

"No. _Out_, Sideswipe. Find somewhere else to lollygag," the medic said flatly, brooking no arguments. "I'm fucking tired of tripping over you two slagging aftheads." The pair knew when they were beaten; they retreated.

The next time, instead of just hanging around, they offered to help. (Rather, Sideswipe offered to help while Sunstreaker scowled and looked as though he'd prefer to be anywhere else.) With a surprised and slightly suspicious look on his face, Ratchet gave them odd jobs to do around the medbay. As the day wore on, however, his expression slowly changed to one of puzzlement, for neither of them shirked anything he asked of them, and he never heard them complain.

Another time, Sideswipe waited until Ratchet had been in medical all day without a break, and then brought him a cube of energon. The frontliner found him in his office, apparently composing a request for supplies. Looking a little frazzled, he had gazed up at Sideswipe with open astonishment, tinged with equal amounts of confusion and gratitude as the red mech slid the cube across his desk to him.

"Thought you might need it," Sideswipe said quietly, then left, leaving Ratchet to stare after him.

With such small victories, wars are won.

Sideswipe was quite capable of being charming without being cloying, with being solicitous without hovering, and he put those skills to full use, privately exulting every time Ratchet's expression toward him softened, even if it were just with confusion. He felt his seduction was going very well; the medic hadn't yelled at either twin or chased them away in days. He had even, on a couple of occasions, looked _pleased _to see them. All he needed now, Sideswipe believed, was the perfect opportunity, a moment when the white mech was feeling vulnerable or maybe a little off-balance—then, with the right kind of push, he _should_ fall right into Sideswipe's arms.

Thus making Sideswipe the winner of the bet. He almost felt as though he ought to be rubbing his hands together and cackling maniacally.

"This is going to end badly," Sunstreaker commented. They were just leaving the medbay after what Sideswipe believed had been a particularly successful encounter, and the red mech had a bounce in his step and a gleam in his optic as they made their way back to their quarters.

"How do you figure?" he asked, giving his yellow brother a dubious look. "_I_ think it's nicely in hand."

Sunstreaker shook his head and leveled a Look at his brother. "Yes, but what are you gonna do with him afterward?"

Sideswipe shrugged. "Pit if I know. Isn't that _his_ problem, anyway?" he asked reasonably. He couldn't figure out what Sunstreaker's malfunction with this was. He'd never expressed interest in the well-being of any of his previous flings, after all. Why was it suddenly so important?

Sunstreaker just shook his head again, this time in disgust at his brother's obtuseness, and didn't bother to reply, setting himself to ignoring Sideswipe for the rest of the evening. At first the yellow mech's stubborn refusal to speak to him grated, but he finally decided to just ignore Sunny right back—that'd show him.

At last, after what felt like an eternity of Sunstreaker's calm silence, an increasingly sulky Sideswipe realized that he didn't feel like sulking anymore and broke the quiet between them.

"What do you think would be the best way to get him to give it up?" he mused. "Maybe…" he trailed off for a moment, then grinned brightly and continued in a simpering tone. "'Oh, poor little me, my brother's hurt and in the medbay and I'm _allllll aloooone_, what_ever_ shall I do?'" He heaved a great dramatic sigh, flopping back on his berth with an arm over his optics, lifting it up just enough to peek out at his brother.

Sunstreaker snorted. "No," he said flatly.

"Aw, c'mon bro, be a good sport," the red mech implored.

"I _am_ being a good sport. I didn't tell him what you were up to, did I?"

"Suuuuunnnyyyyyy!"

The yellow mech gave Sideswipe a disgusted look. "I am _not_ letting myself get hurt so you can score a quick lay," he snapped, in a tone that even Sideswipe knew meant it was not up for discussion. The red twin harrumphed in irritation, but otherwise let it lie.

"Still, I definitely think I'll have to catch him off-balance," Sideswipe continued in a murmur, almost as though to himself. "Think he'd bite if I poured on more of that romance slag?"

"Fragged if I know. I'm not Ratchet. I don't know what the mech likes," Sunstreaker muttered, clearly irritated with Sideswipe's persistent pursuance of the current subject. "Why are you so slagging fixated on this anyway? He's gonna slag both of us if this backfires, and it's not like he's all that good-looking—he's so _outdated_. I think it's more trouble than it's worth." There was something off in Sunstreaker's casually dismissive tone, something that should have told Sideswipe there was more to it than what his brother was projecting on the surface, but the red mech ignored it as just another Sunstreaker oddity that he didn't want to examine too closely.

Instead, Sideswipe gave his brother an 'are you stupid?' look. "His looks have nothing to do with it. Just think of the hit we'd take to our rep if we fail, bro."

"'Our' rep, Sideswipe?" The yellow mech's lip curled in a disdainful sneer. "If I recall correctly, _you_ were the one with the bet."

"Whatever," Sideswipe waved a hand dismissively. "I'm not gonna back down just because it gets a little difficult."

Sunstreaker shook his head. "Yeah, well, just don't come running to me when it comes around to bite you in the aft," he said coolly.

"C'mon, Sunstreaker, gimme a bit of a hand, here," Sideswipe pleaded, and the yellow mech heaved an annoyed sigh.

"You're just not going to give this up, are you?"

"…not very likely, no." The red mech looked amused and pleased—he knew he had his brother's full cooperation, now.

"I can't _believe_ I let you drag me into this," Sunstreaker growled, dropping down onto his berth and deliberately turning away from his twin.

"Neither can I," came the cheeky response, which earned Sideswipe a game controller thrown at his head that he promptly ducked.

"We are so gonna be slagged for this…"

"Ah, c'mon, Sunny, where's your sense of adventure?" Sideswipe was grinning now, flush with triumph.

"Right where I left it," the yellow mech grumbled. "Besides, adventure plus Ratchet equals our afts welded to the ceiling," he pointed out—which Sideswipe, reluctantly, had to concede. The red mech started to reply, but his brother cut him off curtly, rolling over a little to frown at him. "Slagging _recharge_, Sideswipe. He'll still be there in the morning, and I'm sick of talking about it right now."

"Fine," Sideswipe sulked, settling himself more comfortably on his berth, but there was no more answer from Sunstreaker—the yellow mech was already cycling into recharge. Huffing a little to himself at being deprived of further argument, though undeniably pleased with the way things were shaping up, Sideswipe did the same.


	3. Chapter 3

Ratchet wasn't sure whether to be furious or terrified when Sideswipe half-carried, half-dragged his brother into the medbay ahead of the other casualties. It was supposed to have been more of a skirmish than a battle, yet Sunstreaker looked like he'd been nearly ripped to ribbons, spilled fluids tracing his path along the floor.

Ratchet hurried over to help lift the battered yellow mech up onto a repair table, briefly glancing at Sideswipe as they worked. "Anyone else this bad?" He actually had to rap the red mech's helm to get him to answer—he looked more than a little dazed himself. Ratchet made a mental note to check him out once he had Sunstreaker stabilized, and tried not to worry too badly until then.

"Ah, no, he's the worst," Sideswipe said absently, never taking his optics off his brother while Ratchet bustled around him, leaving First Aid and Wheeljack to sort out the others that were beginning to trickle in. Swoop and Hoist would be here soon to help them, anyway; Ratchet's priority always had to be the worst wounded. Everyone else seemed to be walking in under their own power, so today it was Sunstreaker.

He glanced around to be sure that everything was well in hand, and turned back to the task before him. He tried not to wince, but it was surprisingly difficult; he'd gotten used to having the two miscreants underfoot lately, and it was more painful than usual to see one of them in pieces on his repair table, with the other looking as though he were halfway in sympathetic shock. The medic shook his head, trying to rid himself of unnecessary thoughts and focus on the repairs—then snarled in reflexive anger when he managed to trip over an anxiously hovering Sideswipe.

"Get out of my way, you damned twit!" The snap was instinctive, uttered without thought and without any real malice—which was why he was taken aback, spark skipping a pulse in guilt when Sideswipe looked as though Ratchet had just kicked his turbo-puppy. The red mech had been…uncommonly pleasant company lately, and once he'd proven he could be a real person with a real spark instead of a thoughtless troublemaker, the medic had started to become—dare he say it?—a little fond of him.

Well—fonder than before. Truth be told, he'd _always_ held an irrational soft spot for the warrior twins, deeply buried, even from himself most of the time. _This is not getting Sunstreaker repaired, Ratchet. Focus._

His hands knew their business even without conscious direction from his mind, and he was already elbow-deep in the yellow mech's internals, finding and sealing leaks, the first step to getting his patient stabilized. He didn't want him to bleed out before he could even start his repairs, after all.

"How did this happen?" he asked without looking up, his voice conversational despite the speed with which he worked.

He didn't see the stupidly confused look Sideswipe threw him—the mech was still expecting to be yelled at. "What?"

Ratchet glanced up for a brief nanoklik, arching an optic ridge. Seeing the still-dazed expression on the red twin's face, his own expression softened. "How did he get hurt this badly, when everyone else is walking wounded?"

Sideswipe blinked. "Oh. We were practicing our Jet Judo again—"

So much for not being thoughtless. "You did _what_?" Ratchet asked, voice dangerous, suddenly angry—not because of the work they'd made for him, but for the stupid risks that these two mechs routinely took despite all common sense.

Sideswipe opened his mouth to respond, optics brightening a little at the return to familiarity, but Ratchet cut him off. "How many times do I have to tell you slagging sparklings not to antagonize the Seekers? I know they're shiny and brightly colored, but can't you _just once_ resist the urge to grab? Every time—_every time_—you two Pit spawn take on those jets one or both of you comes back in pieces, then _I'm_ the one who gets to slagging put you back together!" He removed a section of damaged plating with such force that Sunstreaker doubtless would have howled in protest if he hadn't been offline. Sideswipe prudently kept his mouth shut as Ratchet fumed silently for a few more moments.

The red mech had started to allow his mind to drift back into its daze when Ratchet finally spoke again, his voice quiet, tinged by something like anger. "One of these days—"

Before he could think better of it, Sideswipe cut him off, brightly chirping a cheeky end to the medic's oft-spoken warning, "You're gonna rebuild us as alarm clocks!"

The expected snarl didn't come, however. Instead, Ratchet gave him a brief, weary look. "No. One of these days, I won't be able to rebuild you at all." He didn't say anything more, simply turning his attention back to his work.

Sideswipe didn't know what to say to that. He felt more than a little like a heel, and it was an uncomfortable sensation, so he kept his vocalizer mute. Ratchet didn't need to be reminded of what they were, and what their job was—it was Ratchet's job to put them back together afterward. Except…it didn't take a genius to realize how painful it was to make friends out of mechs when you had to watch them suffer and possibly die, and Sideswipe was embarrassed that he'd had to have it practically shoved in his faceplates.

He'd always held respect for Ratchet's abilities, but now, a new respect was budding, one for the difficulty the medic faced when he went to work after every battle, the emotional turmoil that Sideswipe was just now realizing ate him up inside, and the resolution with which the white mech faced it. In newfound deference, he kept his silence, watching with intent but quiet optics while Ratchet, as he always had and likely always would, worked to put the broken pieces of his brother back together.


	4. Chapter 4

Note to Self: upload the correct document *facepalm*

**This chapter contains sticky. If that's not your cuppa, please don't read it.  
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"He'll be fine," Ratchet said quietly, giving Sideswipe a brief glance, then turning to survey his handiwork with tired optics as he cleaned the energon from his hands. Sunstreaker was fully repaired at last, though the golden menace was going to have to live with a sub-par appearance until he could acquire a fresh coat of paint.

Appearance wasn't Ratchet's concern at the moment, however. "Let him get in a full recharge cycle and I'll clear him for light duty in the morning," he continued, starting to clean and put away his tools, no longer really noticing Sideswipe's presence, even though he was the only other mech in the medbay.

Just as he was laying the last tool in its place, however, a warm, gentle black hand on his own stilled him. He looked up with a soft, startled gasp to see Sideswipe's face very near, his expression fierce with sincere gratitude. Still, Ratchet could not for the life of him understand what possessed the red mech to do what he did next, and the medic could only blame his confusion and exhaustion for not belting the frontliner in the face for it.

"Thank you," Sideswipe said in a low voice—and then he kissed him.

Ratchet froze, processor scrambling to make sense of the situation. _Sideswipe_ was _kissing_ him. It took Ratchet a few stunned moments to realize that he was _kissing back_.

A small voice inside him protested, said that this wasn't right, wasn't _fair_ to pull this slag on him when he was already half-shattered with stress and weariness. The rest of him told it to shut the frag up because it felt fragging _amazing_—almost felt like something he'd been _waiting_ for, except that didn't make any sense either.

Sideswipe pulled him close against his frame, his arms encircling the white medic as he kissed him, and Ratchet trembled, reminded of how good it felt to be held by another mech, and how long it had been since the last time he'd allowed himself to experience this. Sideswipe's hands were _everywhere_, first cupping his helm tenderly, then sliding down his frame, as though trying to memorize the feel of his plating and the shape of his body. Ratchet could only manage to cling to Sideswipe, his hands clutching the red mech's shoulders as he allowed himself to be seduced.

He forgot everything but the taste of Sideswipe's mouth and the feel of his hands on his plating, not even noticing when the red twin began to back him out of the medbay and across the hall to his quarters. He had a moment of confusion when Sides asked him for his keycode, but he gasped it out readily enough when the red mech turned his attention to nipping and suckling at his neck and shoulders.

Sideswipe was kissing him almost desperately when they tripped over the berth, Ratchet falling backward with the other mech on top of him. Sideswipe grunted softly as they found themselves horizontal, but he didn't waste any time. He parted Ratchet's thighs with one of his own, and Ratchet couldn't stifle a cry when he felt the heat rolling off of Sideswipe's interface panel as the red mech pressed firmly against him. He bucked up into Sideswipe's thigh, instinctively spreading his legs a little further, inviting more contact.

The red mech vented a shaky sigh, and then he was nestling himself entirely between Ratchet's parted thighs, their interface panels pressed intimately together, his hips rolling gently against Ratchet's own as though he were already inside him. Then, without any more warning than a quick shudder, Sideswipe's control broke and his panel clicked open, his spike rising from its sheathe to press hot and hard and needing between them. Ratchet's valve clenched with an answering rush of lubricant at the alluring nearness of it, feeling achingly empty and desperate to be filled.

Sideswipe didn't say anything, didn't demand or beg for Ratchet to open up for him, as though he knew that speaking would fracture the fragile web of desire stretched between them. He simply pressed his spike firmly against the medic's closed panel, rubbing in long, sinuous strokes, gasping softly in pleasure at the delicious friction.

It proved to be Ratchet's own breaking point, and he could feel himself trembling as his panel clicked open, exposing his greedy valve; he was hyperaware of Sideswipe's spike so dangerously, tantalizingly close. Sideswipe abruptly stilled as he became aware of the wet heat suddenly pressing against his painfully hard spike—then, tentatively, he began moving again, rubbing gently, and it almost seemed an accident when the blunt tip of him found Ratchet's clutching entrance, making both of them utter soft, breathy cries. The white mech found himself arching up instinctively, and Sideswipe only hesitated for a moment before pushing inside, groaning as he sank into Ratchet's slick, welcoming valve.

Ratchet's optics offlined, his head tilting back as he moaned at the feeling of Sideswipe penetrating him, filling him in a way that he hadn't been in what felt like a lifetime, the slow stretch of his entrance painfully exquisite. The red mech's spike felt thick and heavy inside him, and his valve clutched at it, tightening around it until it felt as though their interface equipment was molded together.

Sideswipe kept still above him, panting softly, optics offline as they both adjusted to being so intimately joined. Then they snapped on, something like surprise and wonder shining in them as Ratchet wordlessly looked at him, winding his arms a little tighter around the red mech, and tentatively arched his hips up in a clear plea to feel Sideswipe moving above him and inside him. With a ragged gasp, Sideswipe obliged him. His hips pulled back and then surged forward, driving his spike into the silken clutch of Ratchet's valve with gentle urgency while the white mech moaned beneath him.

Pleasure bloomed through all of Ratchet's systems, spreading outward from the slick friction in his valve, and he spread his thighs further, trying to take Sideswipe ever deeper inside him, until it felt as though the tip of the red twin's spike was bumping up against the entrance of his reproduction chamber. Sideswipe gave a hoarse groan at the new depth, his head falling to Ratchet's shoulder as his thrusts hitched briefly then sped up.

Ratchet was vaguely aware enough to be glad that Sideswipe didn't seem interested in drawing this out, because he wasn't sure he was going to last much longer. Ecstasy burned in his lines and he was quickly growing unable to contain it. He could feel his overload approaching like the rush of an oncoming train. He felt completely powerless to stop or even slow it, and when it hit he bucked so hard he nearly threw Sideswipe off, crying out the pleasure of his release. His valve fluttered and clutched around the spike inside it, and he distantly heard Sideswipe raggedly whisper "Oh _Primus_ Ratch…" before a rush of liquid heat filled him, black hips jerking against his own as the red mech overloaded deep inside him.

Slowly, the intense rush of pleasure began to fade, leaving rising warmth and lassitude and a delicious ache in his valve where Sideswipe's spike was still buried inside, and by degrees Ratchet allowed himself to completely relax beneath the red twin. His body felt heavy and sated, anchored to reality by the warm, firm presence of the mech above him, and he kept him held as close as he could with the strength he had left.

Sideswipe, for his part, seemed content to burrow in, his face pressed into Ratchet's neck, and supporting his own weight just enough to keep from crushing the medic under him. After a few moments, though, his spike retracted, and he grunted softly then sighed as he rolled off to the side. Ratchet frowned, but before his mind could really process anything, he found himself being pulled to a broad red chestplate, Sideswipe tucking him against his frame with strong arms, curling around him, _cuddling_ him. At that, Ratchet's mind decided that it couldn't handle any more strange and unexpected events tonight, and shut him down into recharge in exhaustion and self-defense.

Sometime later, he was awakened by the feel of someone else creeping into his berth—Sunstreaker, he realized groggily, as the yellow mech crawled up close to their entwined forms, wrapping his own arms around Ratchet from behind and pressing his face into the medic's back. Feeling impossibly, incongruously safe between the two warm bodies at either side of him, Ratchet lay in the dark and wondered when he'd lost his damn mind.


End file.
